


to roll the (loaded) dice

by dats__gayyy



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Rule 63, genderbend of peeta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21772273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dats__gayyy/pseuds/dats__gayyy
Summary: Petra Mellark is Reaped to silence.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

Petra Mellark is Reaped to silence.

The whole world falls mute to her ears. The shuffling as people turn to look at her, the hand on her back that urges her forward, her footsteps on the stairs up to the podium.

Even her tears slide down her face without sound.

She stands, back too-straight and legs trembling, wide-eyedly watching District 12 watch her. They stare up at her, these people that she’s loved and hated and laughed with and baked bread for, and in their eyes she sees relief. It was not their son or sister or beloved chosen. 

Petra Mellark, the baker’s daughter. 

Primrose Everdeen, the -- but no, no, Katniss Everdeen, the fierce older sister who volunteers as tribute, flinty eyes like the ore below their feet, awaiting a spark.

All of this - all of this, and Petra is silent as the grave. 

*

Petra’s mother weeps as she says goodbye. It will be the last time they see each other. They both know it, know that there is no hope of Petra’s survival. She will take her last breaths on a tiny screen broadcast to everyone in Panem, and then there will be cannon fire, and life and the Games will continue for all but the twenty-three.

But maybe, her mother says, brows pulling into a thoughtful furrow, maybe District 12 will have its first winner.

Petra remembers Katniss’ face, ashen but determined, as she stepped forward.  _ I volunteer as tribute! _

She thinks maybe, maybe her mother is right.

*

They’re ushered onto a train unlike any Petra could have ever imagined. The engine hums in a whisper, the cars gliding so smoothly that the chandeliers do not shake. It’s overwhelming. Effie explains that they’re moving at 200 miles per hour, but Petra’s mind is spinning faster.

Katniss is sullen, staring out the window with a blank gaze. Petra tries to coax her out of her thoughts, but to no avail.

Their mentor is...not what Petra had hoped for. He sways as he walks towards them, breath reeking of alcohol even as he pours himself more.

Somehow in their stilted conversation Petra manages to get on Haymitch’s bad side. He leaves before he can offer any real advice, but- he came in the first place, and he’s all they have besides. 

“He’s gonna come around,” she tells Katniss as she hurries after him.  _ He has to. _

Katniss doesn’t believe her. Petra probably wouldn’t believe her, either. But belief is secondary to necessity, so Petra intercepts him before he can get behind a door that locks. She babbles, trying to find something that will reach him, if not obligation, if not moral decency.

Nothing seems to work. Petra deflates, slowly, slowly. Finally, she snaps.

“I know I’m going to die in there,” she says. Her eyes sting. “But for my family, for everyone watching from my District… I want to  _ fight.  _ If I can’t live, then at least- at least I can give them that.” She’s going to cry, but she wills herself not now. “I thought you could teach me that much.”

She turns away. Haymitch mutters under his breath. Right as her hand touches the door, he breaks.

“Alright. Alright! You win, kid. Just...give me the night, okay? Find me at breakfast tomorrow.” He sounds exhausted, the survivor of a Game twenty-three children are about to lose.

So she gives him the night. 

*

Katniss finds them the next morning in the meal car, her face twisted in a bewildered frown at the sight. There are rings under her eyes. She approaches warily, like something wild.

Haymitch enjoys controlling the conversation, being the arbiter of what is said and when. Unlike Petra had been, Katniss doesn’t play along. He stalls, not answering her questions. 

The knife quivers, pierced into the -  _ mahogany! Effie protests  _ \- table an inch from his hand. 

Haymitch is unimpressed. 

He tells them the secret to their survival is being likeable. It tracks, Petra thinks, even if it doesn’t make sense. If this is a Game, then the Capitol wants to be entertained. 

Upon their entry to the city, throngs of people crowd the train, peering into the windows hoping to catch a glimpse of the contestants. Petra waves with a bright smile, and she plans.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory eff canon
> 
> Diverging from canon next chapter a lil bit

The thing the Capitol cares most about is appearances. They are whisked away to their stylists once they get off the train. Petra is washed and scrubbed and plucked and tittered over.

“Muscular, for a girl,” her groomers murmur. “Handsome features, though - that jawline, and those eyes!”

“Like the open sky in summer,” a tall woman says, picking her way past them to stand in front of the girl. Her voice is rich, skin a warm copper, her hair a golden halo around her head. Her eyes are calculating, but there is a spark in them that makes Petra’s shoulders relax a fraction.

“Oh, you will be fun to work with,” she declares, black-painted lips pulling into a large smile. “Portia. I’m your personal stylist, for the Hunger Games and all its tangential events.”

“Petra,” she offers her hand, trying to fight back a blush as she tries to one-handedly hold up the small towel that’s wrapped around her remaining modesty. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Portia laughs, a surprisingly loud sound for someone so carefully put together. “And charming!” She shakes Petra’s hand, and Petra feels her face flush at the comment. “So tell me, my dear: when people look at you on stage, what do you want them to see?”

“...Me?” she says it feebly, as if the question overwhelms her, but this desire for authenticity strikes her to her core. When she dies, she wants them to see her for what she was: Petra Mellark from District 12, the baker’s daughter, a lover and not a fighter, full of hope. Murdered, by the hand of a child but the will of a nation.

Portia raises a brow. “That is more dangerous than you may think.”

Petra nods, chewing her lip. “It’s what I want,” she says at last.

“Well then dear,” Portia spreads her hands wide, her smile turning sharp as a dagger. “Tell me about yourself.”

*

They ride in on chariots to the opening ceremony. It is exactly as ostentatious as it sounds, and from the deafening roar of the crowd in the stands, it seems as if the whole Capitol is here to watch. 

Katniss can’t stand still as they wait for their cue to start off. Her hair, silky now and braided tightly, is gathered into a loose updo. Her black bodysuit is svelter than Petra’s, hugs her form in a way that makes her look lethal, even without the fake flames. But her eyes, accented loosely by dark liner, are wide and shifting. Like prey, rather than predator.

“You look nice,” Petra coaxes, smiling when Katniss looks at her incredulously. 

“I’m not supposed to look  _ nice, _ ” she retorts, matter-of-fact enough to be brusque. Nervous fingers fiddle with her collar.

  
  
  


True. “Fierce, then,” Petra settles. “Like a fighter. A winner.”

Katniss tugs the fabric. It doesn’t give. “Thanks.” Then, awkwardly, her eyes scanning the other girl quickly, “You too.”

Petra chuckles. She’s not a fighter, and even Portia’s well-cut clothes can’t convincingly make her into one. She does, however, look  _ nice  _ \- angular and defined, hair cut so that her bangs no longer fall into her eyes but instead frame her face, the length of it coiled back into a bun. Smokey eyeshadow fades from her lids to her brow, eyes bright and captivating beneath.

The man holding their horses gets signal, spurring them on with a tap and giddyup. 

Petra is glad the camera haven’t focused on them yet. The crowd is just as massive as it had sounded, dressed in bizarre finery like something out of a fever dream. She feels like a fresh pastry, plucked from the oven and cooling on display, the hungry near enough to feel the rumble of their appetite. 

It’s disconcerting. Everything here has been.

They’re halfway to their destination by the time they draw attention. The din of the crowd makes Petra’s ears ache, but they’re all watching, and her face is plastered on several screens, so she stands up straight, close-lipped smile on her face. 

_ Not meant to look nice,  _ echoes in her head.

Katniss is rigid next to her. She looks tense to the point of breaking.

Petra reaches for her hand. Katniss flinches, pulling away.

“They’ll love it,” Petra explains, tilting her head toward the crowd.

Katniss hesitates. Her eyes search Petra’s, and she relents. Petra takes her hand gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze before lifting them overhead.

Applause and whoops resound.

It hits Petra suddenly that they’re a  _ team.  _ Maybe it isn’t permanent, but here they both need each other, both do better together.

Petra turns back to glance at Katniss, only to find the other girl watching her as well. It’s almost unsettling, the intensity in her dark eyes. 

“Listen - “ But she’s cut off by President Snow’s speech, and the formal start of the opening ceremony.

*

Portia and her team spirit her away for a wardrobe change, to a back room where the event is muted to the rumblings of a small television in the corner.

“I haven’t decided what I’m going to say up there,” Petra admits as Portia leans close, smoothing make up over her cheeks. Her gaze darts to the screen, where a well-polished contestant is leaning back in his seat, grinning broadly at something the host is saying.

Portia steps back, admiring her handiwork, before switching over to focus on her eyes.

“Close them for me, please? Thank you.” A moment later there’s a gentle pressure on Petra’s lid. “This is your chance to create yourself - who you want them to see you as. Craft your personna well, and you gain sponsors.”

Petra enjoys the flair of the creative. Decorating cakes, painting, telling stories. It’s the same here, she supposes, just a story with a beginning, a middle, and an ending the audience will choose.

“I want to help Katniss. I…” Petra trails off. She clears her throat. “She’s tough, and smart, and a good shot with a bow. She could win.”

Portia is silent for a long while. Finally, “Open your eyes, please.” She hums, a low satisfied note. “You care about her.”

Petra can’t decipher her tone. “She’s from my district. We grew up together.”  _ Of course,  _ she thinks. 

“Of course,” Portia echoes softly, lips quirking in a smile. “What if you give them a love story?”

Petra’s stomach drops. Her entire face heats up. “I…” Her mind races. Will that work?

Portia’s smile widens, teeth glinting. “Unconventional, perhaps. It’s not something spoken aloud about, these...relationships. But…”

It seems impossible. She’s not in love with Katniss, and Katniss certainly isn’t with her. But the idea nags in Petra’s brain. The role of lover, the desired, would soften the stoic hunter, and grant them a narrative arc to tease the audience with. If there  _ is  _ an audience for a love story between two girls here in the Capitol. In the districts, not much heed is paid to such things as sexuality, but here…

A familiar voice sounds from the television. It’s Katniss, looking so tense, on stage fumbling to give a stilted answer. 

They watch in silence. The audience and the host laugh at parts, but it’s clear to anyone who knows the girl that Katniss hadn’t intended on being funny. 

And then it’s over, and there’s a brief interlude. 

Portia rests her hand on Petra’s shoulder. When she looks up, the stylist’s expression is grave. 

“These people don’t care about you, Petra.  _ Make  _ them care.” She squeezes her shoulder lightly, then leans in to press a sympathetic kiss to her golden hair. “You could be a winner too.”

In a daze, Petra walks out into the blinding lights. 


	3. Chapter 3

Petra feels a bead of sweat trickle from her jaw down her neck. She smiles placantly at the camera, hoping she doesn’t look half as nervous as the roiling in her stomach belies.

Caesar asks her about her love life, and Petra demurs at first.

Caesar insists. “I don’t believe it! An angelic face like that! Do you believe it?” The audience, invoked, dissents loudly.

Petra glances at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap. She waits a beat, almost two, then admits, “Well...there is...someone. Someone I’ve had a crush on for a long time.”

Caesar grins, his teeth nearly as glaring as the lights. He bounces in his seat. “Aha!”

Petra takes an unsteady breath. Fuck. “Yeah, I’m not sure they recognized me until the reaping, though.” That much was true. She’d seen the flicker in Katniss’s eyes before they shook hands. “And...they’re with someone else.”

Caesar leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Gasp! Folks, it’s a love triangle!” The audience titters excitedly. “The girl - what is she like?”

Petra takes a deep, steadying breath that she hopes looks like a lovesick sigh. “She’s everything I’m not. She’s tall, she’s tough, she’s… she’s pure fire.” Petra pauses, furrowing her brow theatrically. “There is one way we’re alike though.”

Caesar motions for her to continue. Petra looks out to the audience, all watching her silently. She’s got them.

“We’re both here.”

The dramatic reveal. They eat it up.

Once it’s quiet enough to speak again, a shocked Caesar wishes her luck.

Petra has a feeling she’s going to need it.

* * *

  
  


She’s barely exited backstage before Katniss pounces on her.

“What the hell was that?!” she’s asked as she’s shoved up against the wall. Katniss is  _ furious, _ teeth gritted, arm solid across Petra’s collar.

“Katniss-”

“No!” Katniss presses more weight against her. “You’ve never even looked at Gale, and now you’ve got a crush on him? Is that why you wanted to train alone, huh?”

What the fuck is going on?  _ Gale? _

“Katniss!” Petra gasps, having trouble catching her breath crushed under the other girl’s grip.

Suddenly, a strong hand is on her shoulder, and the angry hunter is being pushed away. “Stop!” Haymitch orders, glaring, planting himself between them. Effie hovers at his elbow, and Cinna and Portia stand behind them.

Katniss tries to step around him, to no avail. “Let’s have a practice round, right now!”

“I said stop!”

Katniss wheels on him next. “This was your plan, wasn’t it? To make me look - weak, and - and like the other woman in front of the entire country?” Her voice has raised half an octave, her chest heaving. Petra worries she might be hyperventilating.

“It was my idea. Haymitch had nothing to do with it.” 

Katniss practically growls. “It was a stupid idea!”

Haymitch snorts. “If you’d stop to  _ think  _ a minute, Princess, you’d realize that’s not what’s stupid in this situation. She did you a favor.”

“She made me look-”

“Desirable, Katniss!” their mentor throws his hands up, exasperated. “You’re now a romantic-” His eyes flick to Petra - “rival, or...something. Everyone loves a love triangle. The tension, the angst, and all that bullshit.”

“He’s right, Katniss,” Cinna murmurs. Katniss actually quiets at that.

Haymitch grins. “Of course I’m right! I can sell this. You can get sponsors out of this. It’s a narrative. It can keep you in the game, if you play it right.” The modifier hangs like a warning. He turns to Petra. “Okay, why don’t you get out of here? Maybe I can deliver you both in one piece tomorrow.”

Petra eyes Katniss. She’s calmed down some, though her shoulders are taut with an electric agitation. But Petra’s too hurt, too confused, to do anything to help her, so she turns and she walks away.

From the girl who was supposed to be her love interest, but has twisted into her rival. Petra mulled her interview over in her head. Hadn’t it been obvious who she’d been talking about? 

There’s a TV in the hall playing a highlights reel of the contestants. Petra stops to watch for her own, looking on as she appears onscreen. She listens as she admits her feelings. A cutout in the corner shows Katniss’ reaction. The way her dark brows rise when Petra says she has a crush, the way she stiffens, scowling, when Petra describes ‘her.’

She’d never thought Petra’s crush was her. It wasn’t even conceivable to Katniss. And Petra had been vague enough, had mistaken when Caesar’d asked her about ‘the girl’ to assume he knew the girl was the one she had a crush on… damn it. Was it just Katniss who was confused, or the viewers too?

_ At least I won’t have to deal with this mess for long, _ Petra thinks with a grim sort of gallows humor.

* * *

  
  


Petra can’t sleep that night. The air in her room feels too stale, suffocating, so she wanders out to the living area, pacing before she settles down to think, staring out the window.

This is it. Probably her last night alive. In a strange city, far away from almost everyone she’s ever known, farther still from her dreams, from all the things she’d thought she’d get to do.

Tomorrow, she might kill someone. She’ll probably see someone die. All kids, like her, with things they love and people they hate and lives that deserve so, so much more.

Soft footsteps stir her from her thoughts. Katniss appears in the doorway. “Can’t sleep?”

Petra huffs. “Of course I can’t.”

Katniss shifts from foot to foot awkwardly, shuffling closer. She steals a glance at Petra. “I’m sorry I attacked you earlier.”

Petra stares at the skyline.  _ It doesn’t really matter, does it? _ She wants to say, but that’s too fatalistic. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Katniss says, but Petra knows she doesn’t.

Katniss crosses the room, sitting down a few feet away to join her. They sit in silence a long moment, listening to the crowd outside chant for the tributes.

“Listen to them.” Her voice is soft, raspy. If she were a different person, Petra might think she’s about to cry. 

Petra hums in agreement, closing her eyes. “I just - I just hope they don’t change me.” When she opens her eyes, Katniss is staring at her in a way that makes Petra’s heart jump.

“Change you how?”

Like they've started to try, to change her into something hard and mean like they want to see. “Like...I don’t know.” Petra balls her fists. “Turn me into something I’m not. I just don’t want to be another piece in their game, you know?”

“So you’re not going to kill anyone?” Katniss clarifies, head tilting. A strand of hair falls over her face. For a fleeting moment, Petra thinks - if this were the girl the public could see, they’d adore her. Sponsors would flock to her. And then she wishes that weren’t the first thought she’d had.

Petra shakes her head. “No, I’m sure I would, just like anyone else. But I just keep wishing I could think of a way to show them that they don’t own me. If I’m gonna die, I want to still be me. Does that make any sense?”

_ I want my spirit to live beyond this cruelty, even if I don’t. _

Katniss doesn’t hesitate before she nods. “Yeah.” She turns back to the window, jaw clenching. “I just can’t afford to think like that. I have my sister.” She has someone to live for.

And that’s the difference between them. Katniss actually has a shot of coming out of this alive. And that means becoming a victor. A killer, a fighter, a survivor. Someone the audience can root for and sponsors can give to. Someone who, even if they lose themselves, wins their life.

So Petra decides: she’ll die for Katniss. For Prim. Hell, even for Gale, though the thought makes her a little queasy. And in return, when Katniss wins, she’ll win - she’ll live - for them all.

Petra bids Katniss goodnight, and she starts to plan.


End file.
